


ourselves we do not owe

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: the twelfth night au [1]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Canon-Typical Sexism, Courtly Love, Disguise, Duelling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Unrequited Love, and other stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 16:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Alanna doesn'tlikeDelia of Eldorne.At least, not at first.





	ourselves we do not owe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fraught](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraught/gifts).



> Written for fraught in Fandom Loves Puerto Rico, who gave me an absolute gift of a prompt: Twelfth Night, Alanna wooing Delia on Jonathan's behalf. She said I was allowed to go Delia/Alanna so I _went_. I hope you like it, Amelie!
> 
> Lisafer was kind enough to beta this.

_I do I know not what and fear to find_

_Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind._

_Fate, show thy force. **Ourselves we do not owe.**_

_What is decreed must be, and be this so._

_-Twelfth Night_

 

 

The day after his nineteenth birthday, Jon's head was sour with drink; Alanna could tell by the heaviness of his eyes and the grey tinge to his skin, and the way he wobbled against the wall as he held himself up.

 

"Alan," he said.

 

"What?" Alanna answered, already halfway out the door.

 

"You're... going out?"

 

"I said I'd take Sir Myles something for his head. I can get something for you too, if you want."

 

"'m fine," Jon said, staggering slightly. "Just... take some flowers around for Lady Delia."

 

Alanna stared at him, strongly tempted to refuse.

 

"Pink," Jon said decisively. "Pink flowers, Alanna."

 

Alanna opened her mouth and closed it again. "Will that be all?" she said, with some sarcasm. "Your highness?"

 

"Yes," Jon said, and stumbled back into his bedroom. Alanna heard him flop onto the bed. "Wait, no. Alan! Tell Gary I won't be riding out with him this morning. I'm indis- Indis. Indisposed?"

 

"Hungover," Alanna supplied brutally, and stamped out of Jon's rooms.

 

She ordered two hangover cures from Duke Baird and a greasy breakfast from the kitchens; she united Jon's tonic with his breakfast and sent the two up together, snaffled a hot sausage turnover for herself and made it to Myles's door very promptly.

 

Myles blinked at her when he opened the door.

 

"Tonic, Sir Myles," Alanna announced, shoving it at him.

 

"Thank you, Alan," Myles said, accepting it. "You're very... brisk, this morning. Do you have a commission in the city?"

 

Alanna scowled.

 

"Let me guess," Myles said, uncorking the bottle. "Lady Delia?"

 

"Jon wants me to get her _flowers_ ," Alanna said, with disgust.

 

"How courtly," Myles said, a smile twitching at his mouth.

 

"Courtly my _arse_ ," Alanna complained. "He can get his own bloody flowers."

 

"Evidently he can't," Myles said, sipping from the tonic, "and as his squire -"

 

"I know," Alanna said. "I'm _going_."

 

 

"Pink flowers," said the shopgirl at the nearest florist's. "Any particular sort of pink flowers?"

 

"I really don't care," Alanna said. "Just... pink flowers, for a young lady."

 

"And how much were you looking to spend, Squire Alan?"

 

"I really don't care about that, either," Alanna said. "It's a commission from Prince Jonathan. Just put it on the royal account."

 

 

Alanna delivered the flowers an hour later. She thought they were hideous, but conceded they were fashionable - and identical to half the posies she saw when Delia's lady's maid accepted the bouquet.

 

"Do tell him to come in, Analiese," Delia called brightly, from another room.

 

Alanna discovered an urgent need to be at the other end of the palace.

 

 

After that, Delia became ubiquitous. All of Alanna's friends fell at her feet, and she seemed to take a special pleasure in playing them off against Alanna, since Squire Alan was the only unmarried man between fifteen and fifty who wasn't smitten with her. Alanna suffered through the dancing, since Jonathan ordered her to, and pointedly fell asleep in the back of two salons before Jonathan conceded that she didn't care for word games or poetry. Repeatedly ordered to Delia's side by Jonathan, who always had a sketch or a scrap of awful verse or a present that needed ferrying to Delia, Alanna found herself thrown into Delia's company so often that Delia learned exactly how to annoy her by calling on her services - and Jonathan would not allow her to refuse. 

 

Alanna partnered Delia at card games comparatively willingly, since there was no need for conversation, and since Delia had a well-hidden cunning streak which made her a much more effective player than Alanna. She never rose from the table with a significant loss, and often won handily, regardless of the amount of time she spent deferring sweetly to the authority of the older people she was playing with. She also sang prettily, to a skilled accompaniment from Roxanne of Haryse, but Alanna remembered that musicale principally for Delia's insistence that Alanna and no other should fetch her a mulled drink to soothe her throat, which resulted in two of Alanna's fellow squires waylaying her and threatening to dump her into an icy fountain.

 

Alanna, relieved by this opportunity to work off her frustrations, used several of George's tricks to dump them into the fountain instead. Dusting her hands as she walked away, neatening her hair, sucking bruised knuckles and tugging at a torn tunic, she almost crashed straight into Raoul.

 

"I should call you out," he remarked, grinning at her.

 

Alanna jerked a thumb at the yelling and splashing behind her. "Like them? Very well. As the challenged, I say weapons are swords, and we meet at dawn tomorrow."

 

"I said I _should_ ," Raoul clarified. "Not that I was stupid enough to." He folded his arms and leaned against a wall. "You really don't like her, Alan? You don't even admire her looks?"

 

"She's pretty," Alanna said, rather ungraciously. "And she's not as stupid as I thought."

 

"You have no taste, Alan," Raoul said mournfully.

 

 

 

Several days later, Delia caused even more bad feeling by running over to Alanna, rosy-cheeked with excitement and the chill, and demanding that Squire Alan come skating.

 

Alanna recoiled. "I don't skate," she said gruffly.

 

Delia pouted, folding her primrose yellow skirts between gloved fingers. "Why not?"

 

"That pond's dangerous," Alanna said bluntly. "People fall through. I fell through last year. The ice isn't usually thick enough here." She omitted to mention the attempt on her life. "Anyway, I need to be on the practice courts."

 

"So diligent," Delia teased.

 

"I have to be." Alanna crossed her arms. "The way you carry on, people keep challenging me to duels. I need to keep sharp."

 

Delia smiled mischievously. "Oh dear. I am sorry."

 

"You don't seem all that sorry to me, your ladyship." Alanna hesitated. "Have you skated before?"

 

She shook her head. "The sisters at the convent wouldn't have it."

 

"Stay away from the reeds," Alanna said. "The ice is thinner there. And listen to Alex of Tirragen. He's good."

 

Delia curtseyed and loudly declared herself to be in Squire Alan's debt.

 

Alanna waited until she was around the corner to slap her face and groan with frustration.

 

 

"Lady Delia's watching you," Gary announced, squaring up to Alanna on the practice court.

 

"So?" Alanna refused to look up at the spectators' gallery that ran around the wall.

 

"There's a flock of beautiful ladies here today," Gary elaborated, "except for Roxanne of Haryse, and all of them are going to see me make you look stupid."

 

"Including Roxanne of Haryse?" Alanna said, and thrashed Gary in three bouts out of three.

 

Delia cheered for Alan; Alanna could hear her voice rising above the melee.

 

 

The next time Alanna saw Delia, it was at a winter hunt, and the party had been separated into disjointed groups - due, in Alanna's opinion, to the childishness of some of the knights and ladies on the hunt. The huntsmen would be tearing their hair out, and if they got home with any game it would be because it had been set up for them and no other reason.

 

Delia was behaving well, though. She sat her horse well, and although she had been given a stupid little ladies' bow she looked like she knew how to use it.

 

She was frowning.

 

"Do you think we should be worried about wolves, Squire Alan?" she asked, with none of the silliness Alanna might have expected. "I've heard rumours..."

 

Alanna shrugged. "With all these huntsmen out here? There'll be wolves, but you're well protected. And I don't think any of the packs will be hungry enough to hunt so close to the palace."

 

Delia gave a glimmer of a smile. "I trust you," she said.

 

Alanna said nothing.

 

By the time the huntsmen managed to corral the hunt into one organised group and set them at a stag, which Jonathan duly brought down, Delia was back to silliness - though she still rode exceptionally well, for someone playing the fool.

 

Alanna still sulked about being obliged to convey a plate of royal venison from the monarchical table to Delia at the feast afterwards - "compliments of Prince Jonathan," Alanna said; it was now automatic - but she didn't sulk as much as she might otherwise have done.

 

 

And when she caught Geraint of Fenrigh in a corridor with a tight grip on Delia's gloved wrist, she stopped and laid a hand on her sword-hilt instead of just sneering at Fenrigh for unchivalrous behaviour.

 

"Lady Delia," Alanna said. "I'm surprised to see you not dancing."

 

"I've been detained," Lady Delia said. Her voice was light, but the skin around her mouth was pinched and white, not cream.

 

"Delia," Fenrigh said urgently, "please, ignore this boy - I just need to speak to you, make you _understand_ -"

 

"Understand what?" Alanna said. "All I understand is that you're holding a lady against her will."

 

"I will have satisfaction, Trebond," Fenrigh barked, turning on her.

 

"Challenge accepted," Alanna said promptly. "Swords, dawn tomorrow, practice court three. Unless you'd like to apologise to Lady Delia now and get it over with, in which case I'll pretend the last five minutes didn't happen."

 

Fenrigh snarled.

 

"That didn't sound like a 'sorry' to me," Alanna prompted, curling her fingers over the sword's hilt. It was only a dress sword, not Lightning, but it made her point for her.

 

"I apologise if I at all upset you," Fenrigh said ungraciously to Delia. "With the strength of my feelings."

 

Delia looked down at her feet in maidenly confusion.

 

Alanna waited until Fenrigh was gone to step a little closer to Delia, which caused Delia's head to snap up.

 

"I only want to know if that wrist is bruised," Alanna said.

 

Delia stared at her for a moment, and then rolled her glove down silently. Red marks encircled her wrist; Alanna reached out, and let a spark of her Gift jump to the blemished skin.

 

The marks vanished.

 

"Thank you," Delia said quietly, rolling her glove back up and buttoning it at the elbow. She took a deep breath. "Squire Alan, I'd appreciate it if - if no-one else heard about this."

 

"It's his own stupid fault," Alanna said.

 

"No-one will believe that."

 

Alanna stared at her, and then nodded slowly.

 

"Thank you," Delia said.

 

"Let me escort you back to the ballroom," Alanna said.

 

 

"Alan," Jonathan said, striding into a room, "I need you to do something for me."

 

Alanna, who was more accustomed to receiving orders, raised her head from the armour she was polishing and stared at Jonathan with deep suspicion. "Like what?"

 

"I have an errand for you this evening."

 

Alanna narrowed her eyes and got to her feet, propping her hands on her hips. "I was going into the City this evening."

 

"It's snowing buckets," Jonathan said defensively.

 

"Coram says it'll clear."

 

"I'm your knight-master," Jonathan complained.

 

"You haven't even told me what it is you want yet."

 

"I require your presence at a salon this evening," Jonathan said, in a voice which would have been very regal had he not been squinting at Alanna from his greater height to try and decipher her reaction.

 

"Go yourself!"

 

"I can't, I have a family dinner," Jonathan grumbled, flopping down onto a chest usually covered with cushions. He winced, stood up again, and moved a polishing stone and cloth. "It's Delia; I don't want her to be inconvenienced by anyone, in my absence."

 

"You mean you don't want anyone else to steal a march on you." Alanna took the whetstone from Jonathan, and scraped it down Lightning's blade. "Jon - you're the prince. Why are you worried? Your proposal is - would be a thousand times more eligible than anyone else's."

 

Jonathan said nothing.

 

"You just want to monopolise her," Alanna said. "And you're using your squire to do that. Not very chivalrous."

 

"Is this - are you jealous?" Jonathan rested his hands on his knees. "I know women find it difficult to be friendly -"

 

Alanna threw a tin of polish at his head.

 

Jonathan ducked. "Is that a no?"

 

Alanna thought of the look on Delia's face when Fenrigh had cornered her, and the number of young men who were dangling after Delia, hoping she would take their alternative offer. They weren't wrong to hope; Delia must know a royal marriage was unlikely, and be keeping her options open. It was good strategy. But Delia didn't have any brothers at Court, and when Jon wasn't there she might be... pestered. Alanna found she disliked the thought.

 

And her company wasn't _that_ annoying.

 

"You owe me," she grumbled.

 

 

There was one problem with Delia and Jonathan. Well, there were several problems with Delia and Jonathan, all of which Alanna was happy to elaborate on whenever George or Gary or Raoul asked her, but the one that took up Alanna's time in the few weeks that followed was that Delia was _fickle_. Or maybe fickle wasn't quite right; she had expectations for the amount of Jonathan's time and attention she should receive, and if she felt she was cheated, she turned him a cold shoulder.

 

She did not turn Alanna a cold shoulder. That inevitably made Jonathan sulk.

 

"What is your problem?" Alanna demanded, after one unbearably sullen ride out into the forest. "You know I don't - I'm not looking to replace you! I only spent time with her because you _made_ me."

 

Jonathan huffed a bit, and tossed Darkness's reins to a groom. "I just wish she wouldn't show you so much favour."

 

Alanna handed off Moonlight's reins, rolling her eyes while Jonathan couldn't see. "I don't ask her to. I'm not interested in courting her, and the only reason she likes me is because I don't fall all over her."

 

She also preferred Alanna's choice in flowers and small trinkets to the ones Jonathan required Alanna to buy, and had made a game of guessing which gifts from Prince Jonathan had actually been chosen by Squire Alan. Alanna had reached the point where she found it funny instead of irritating. She had even played along once or twice, requesting a favour from Delia when she rode in the tilts or fought in tourneys. She didn't even mind dancing with Delia any more; Delia was far more graceful than anyone else Squire Alan had ever been called upon to dance with, and she didn't expect Alanna to come out with extravagant compliments. A simple "you look pretty tonight," or "you sang well just now," was well-received and didn't force Alanna into an insincerity she despised. Nor could Jonathan accuse her of making a play for Delia's heart if her words were reported to him.

 

Alanna didn't object to Delia as much as she had done, and when she was asked about her change of mind by assorted people she shrugged and said that Delia improved, if you talked to her.

 

Duke Gareth, who nominally supervised some of the squires and was therefore entitled to call Alanna to his office and ask personal questions, looked very struck by this point.

 

"Do you know," he said, rubbing his chin, "I don't think anyone else has tried."

 

Alanna shrugged again.

 

"Don't do that, Alan; it's gauche."

 

"Sorry, your grace."

 

"You realise, of course, that you are far too young to be thinking of marriage or anything of that sort. I know your father's inattentive, but he wouldn't approve."

 

Alanna stared. "Yes," she said finally. "I mean no. No, I’m not going to ask Delia of Eldorne to _marry_ me."

 

"Good," Duke Gareth said cryptically. "Not that it might not be a reasonable match, once you're knighted..."

 

"Your grace," Alanna said, trying to squash her panic back into the box where it came from, "Jonathan is in love with Delia. And wants to marry her."

 

"I hope my nephew is not behaving badly. Jealousy drives young men hard."

 

"I - no," Alanna said, out of her depth. "Jonathan knows there's nothing to - to be jealous of."

 

They were two women, after all, and Jon knew that truth. He knew Alanna was no threat to his interest in Delia, however much favour Delia showed Squire Alan.

 

"Hmm," Duke Gareth said, and dismissed her.

 

 

In light of all this, Alanna should probably not have been so surprised when Delia found her in the library and kissed her.

 

It was a good kiss. Alanna had kissed George before and liked it, but there was something else about the way Delia kissed, a delicacy and mischief that reminded Alanna of Delia in general, that made it irresistible. Alanna kissed back quite instinctively, setting calloused hands on the rose-pink muslin at Delia's waist - and then Delia gasped and her bright green eyes went wide and Alanna realised.

 

Delia's day skirts were not broad; Alanna's informal shirt and breeches were not as bulky as a smart doublet and hose. She hadn't expected to be in close contact with anyone at all, so hadn’t bothered with the usual precautions. Delia had been pressed close against Alanna, and she must know, now, that Squire Alan was either nothing but a boy at sixteen, or that the light voice, limited need to shave and flat physical profile added up to Squire Alanna. Or something. Alanna didn't know what Delia thought - only that no-one could protect her from exposure now.

 

Panic whitened out Alanna's mind; she could not think, except for remembering every moment when Delia had been a little sharper than was fair, every piece of gossip she had hoarded. She stepped back, not knowing whether to flee, whether to try to reach for spells that would wipe Delia's memory, whether -

 

"Alan!" Delia whispered, grabbing for Alanna's wrist. "Alan, please, stop."

 

Alanna blinked at her, and allowed her wrist to be held.

 

"I'm not - I'm not _angry_ ," Delia said, and carefully took both of Alanna's hands in her own. "I - I would have wanted this - if I'd known it was possible."

 

Alanna blinked some more. "You..."

 

Delia bit down hard on that perfect pink lower lip, and there was a tense silence.

 

Alanna summoned up her courage.

 

"If I know something dangerous about you now," she said, squeezing Delia's fingers, "you know something dangerous about me too."

 

Delia's whole face lightened with relief. "Men are - interesting. And they have power and money, which I need. But women... women are _fascinating_."

 

Something about the way she said 'fascinating' curled warmly around Alanna's insides.

 

"Let's talk about this," Delia said, glancing around the heavy, well-polished shelves of the library. "Not here. The greenhouses? In two bells' time? The gardeners break for lunch then."

 

"Yes," Alanna said, and then frowned. "Wait. How do you know that?"

 

Delia's lips curved into an enchantingly sly smile. "A green backdrop sets off my eyes," she said, batting her eyelashes, and Alanna laughed.

 

"I see."

 

"Were you looking for a book?" Delia asked, picking one up from the floor and reshelving it carefully. "I'm sorry, I... interrupted."

 

"A couple of works on theory of the Gift," Alanna said. "Duke Baird recommended them." She bowed. "In two bells' time, Lady Delia."

 

"Until then, Squire Alan."

 

 

By the time Alanna reached the greenhouse and found Delia, pacing a small, secluded area that housed Queen Lianne's favourite Carthaki lilies, her palms were sweating.

 

"Are you going to tell anyone?" she blurted, voice rough.

 

Delia looked her squarely in the eye. "No. Are _you_ going to tell anyone?"

 

"No," Alanna said.

 

They stared at each other for several moments.

 

"Walk with me," Delia said, holding out her delicate little hand to Alanna. "I have a proposition which I hope will interest you."

 

Alanna tucked Delia's hand into the crook of her elbow. They walked slowly around the alcove and down a long avenue of jungle plants, heavily shaded and humid.

 

"I enjoy your company," Delia said, sounding as businesslike as Alanna had ever heard her. "And you enjoy mine, I think. And we both understand that everyone has... a secret, and needs someone to keep it well."

 

Alanna nodded carefully.

 

"If you wish to maintain your current - status," Delia pursued, "you'll need a wife, eventually."

 

"I'm not doing this forever," Alanna pointed out. "I'll tell them. I have to tell them. Just... after I have my shield."

 

"Even so," Delia said, without the slightest halt. Alanna thought of her card-playing skills. "What if your father should write to say he's considered an eligible alliance for you? Or what if... rumours... spring up, regarding Squire Alan and his preference for male company?" Delia was rigid, suddenly. "I have seen it happen."

 

Alanna covered the hand resting on her arm with one of her own.  "Seen it happen?"

 

Delia stopped and said nothing for a long moment.

 

"Roxanne," she said at last. "Married to a man far older, with heirs. A man of impeccable respectability."

 

Alanna stared at her.

 

"Oh," Delia said, "it's well enough - she likes him, and she likes the desert, and Lord Martin isn't afraid of a clever woman. But it's not what she would have chosen."

 

Delia's smile was a thin, pale thing. Alanna squeezed her hand tightly, wanting to offer some comfort, having no idea how she could.

 

"No-one will hurt you," she said at last, clumsily.

 

"There are so many people who could."

 

"I won't let them."

 

Delia smiled wryly, and they began to walk again. "You see - it's not so implausible, that we should make a good match. Everyone knows I like you. Everyone knows you've fought duels over me. You're from a good lineage, you're the most talented squire in a generation, you're Prince Jonathan's right hand man. Trebond is a wealthy fief. And you may be a younger son, but people say Sir Myles needs an heir - and takes an active interest in your welfare. You're a little younger than me, but we could wait."

 

"Jonathan, though," Alanna said, clinging to reality. She was a squire: squires couldn’t marry. Myles had no need of an heir. She had no interest in matrimony or in stealing her friends' beloveds. "He would be heartbroken. He loves you."

 

"He wants me. It's not the same thing." Delia pursed her lips. "His attention will wander. I have other suitors."

 

Alanna nodded. "It would have to be someone clever enough for you."

 

Delia smiled more broadly than Alanna had ever seen her do.

 

"So - to begin with," Alanna said, testing out the words, "a... temporary arrangement. An understanding. Until I can reveal myself, and you can..."

 

"Find a suitable husband," Delia supplied.

 

"That."

 

It was a plan with advantages, Alanna thought, and did not dwell too hard on how personal those advantages might be.

 

Alanna stopped. "Very well," she said, and let go of Delia, offering her hand instead. "I'll do it."

 

Delia shook her hand firmly, without hesitation, and smiled again. "Here's to the future."

 

"And in the present?" Alanna asked, in a smaller, shyer voice that made her blush.

 

Delia's grin turned a little wicked. "What's a bargain if we can't seal it with a kiss?" she answered, and for a long time neither of them said anything more.

 


End file.
